


How to Save a Life

by MissjuliaMiriam



Category: Batman (Comics)
Genre: Badwrong, Fuck Or Die, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-22
Updated: 2013-03-22
Packaged: 2017-12-06 03:33:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,938
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/731028
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissjuliaMiriam/pseuds/MissjuliaMiriam
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Part of being a hero is doing what has to be done.</p>
            </blockquote>





	How to Save a Life

**Author's Note:**

> I'm a bad person. I wanted fuck-or-die that doesn't end well, because seriously? That shit should be traumatic. This may, at some point, get a follow up.
> 
> Also posted here: http://pepperonific.tumblr.com/post/45870353024/how-to-save-a-life

Tim is bleeding when he is thrown down beside Dick. He’s been stabbed, or shot, maybe, by one of the bastards holding them captive, and there are bruises on his face. He still smiles at Dick.

“Fancy meeting you here,” he says, his voice weak, and Dick smiles back as best he can, scooting over to his brother across the cold concrete to put hard pressure on the large wound.

“This is bad,” Dick says, blood seeping between his fingers. He looks up at the guards standing at the gate of the box-cage. “Hey, you, you got any bandages? Robin isn’t going to be a great bargaining chip if he’s dead.”

The guard, a tall, skinny guy with a pockmarked face, jabs his equally tall but much more bulky partner. The bulky guys scowls, but leaves the room, hopefully to ask for bandages.

“Thank you,” Dick says, and the tall guy snorts.

“You ain’t getting’ nothin’ without payin’ for it,” he says. “You just better hope the bosses don’t want nothin’ you can’t give.”

Dick nods, then looks back at Tim, who shrugs, and then winces.

“You okay?” Dick asks, concerned. He doesn’t remove his hand from the cut in Tim’s side.

Tim nods. “I’ll be fine, Nightwing. They dislocated my shoulder, but I managed to roll it back in on the walk back. It just hurts.”

“What did they want to know?”

“Our identities.”

Dick snorts. “Well, that’s boring. Can’t these guys be more original?”

Tim shakes his head, and opens his mouth to say something when the door bangs open and about a dozen guys stream in, including a grey-haired man in a suit. They’re all older, some fat, others thin, but all of them are well dressed and seem unarmed. Mob bosses, probably, or other underworld higher-ups. Th grey-haired man comes right up to he bars as the other spread out around the cage, and he leers at Dick and Tim.

“Robin,” he says, “Nightwing, so kind of you to join us. I hope you’re enjoying your stay.”

“Not so much,” Dick quips. “Really, the room service could be a lot better.”

The man’s face darkens for a moment, then smooths into a pleasant mask. “Well. You see, I deal in commodities, and that means that I don’t do favours without something in return. If you want your partner to live, Nightwing, you’re going to have to do as I ask.” He puts emphasis on Dick’s alias, and a shiver crawls down Dick’s spine. Whatever this man wants, it isn’t going to be good.

“Sure,” Dick says, trying to sound cheerful and accommodating, even as he puts more pressure on Tim’s wound, trying to stop his brother’s life from leaking out from under his hands. “What’s it gonna be, buddy?”

The man smiles, sinister and dark. There’s an edge of something terrifying there, something dirty. He gestures at the men around him. “You boys are going to put on a little show for me and a few of my friends.”

“A show?” Dick asks, and one of Tim’s hands lifts to rest on his arm.

“They want us to-” Tim says, speaking up for the first time, but he can’t finish his sentence. Dick looks down at his brother to find his brows pinched tight together, a pain expression on his face. It’s not just the physical, Dick know, because that can’t have gotten any worse. It’s something else.

“You’re going to fuck him,” the grey-haired man says, and horror blanks Dick’s face. “And we’re going to watch.”

“Are you kidding?” Dick shouts. He glares at the man, furious. “You can’t- he’s fourteen! And he’s bleeding out! I won’t!”

“Then I suppose we’ll all just sit here and watch him die, won’t we?”

Dick closes his eyes tightly, ignoring the chuckles from the men filling the room, and lets out a shaky breath. The hand that Tim has on his arm tightens, and he opens his eyes again to look at his brother.

“It’s okay,” Tim says. The tension in his body says differently. “Really, Dick. Just- just make it quick, and then they’ll let you wrap this cut. I’ll die if you don’t.”

“But- but you don’t want this,” Dick whispers, agonized, and curls over Tim’s prone form. He knows that the fuckers are watching avidly, but he tries to ignore them in favour of his little brother. His little, underage, injured brother. Fuck.

“I don’t,” Tim says. “And neither do you. But we’ll get through this.” He relaxes a little bit under Dick’s hands. “I don’t want to die.” He sounds like a terrified child for a moment, and Dick flinches.

“You won’t,” he says. “I promise.”

Dick hesitates for another moment, but then Tim is pulling himself up a little and grabbing for the zipper at the back of Dick’s costume, pulling it down as he lies back again. He moans quietly when he rests back on his injured shoulder, and Dick hushes him. He’s more aware, now, of the leers of the men who are watching them, and he wants this to be as bad for them as possible. Dick stands to strip off his costume, making sure that Tim is applying pressure to the wound as he does, and then kneels again to help Tim out of his own clothes, pulling off his tunic. Tim is wearing an undershirt, which Dick pulls off as well and uses as a quick makeshift bandage to keep Tim alive until they’re done with this. It’s white, and Tim bleeds through it before Dick can finish getting his leggings off, but it’s better than nothing.

“How are you doing?” Dick asks, once they’re both in their underwear.

“Dunno,” Tim says, and then blinks slowly. “Gonna lose consciousness soon, so probably you should hurry. Unless you think it’ll be easier that way.”

“It would and it wouldn’t,” Dick says, but he hurries in stripping off his underwear and Tim’s. He knows it’s selfish to want Tim to be awake for this, because it’s only going to hurt him more, but he doesn’t think he’d be able to do this with Tim’s unconscious body. As it is, he’ll barely be able to do it at all, and only because Tim will die if he doesn’t.

It’s Tim’s blood that covers Dick’s hands as he jerks himself to full harness, his eyes closed tight and all his attention focused on the cool skin of Tim’s thighs bracketing his hips. It’s Tim’s blood that Dick uses as lubricant as he stretches his brother as best he can. But it’s Dick who bleeds when Tim digs his nails into Dick’s arms on the first thrust, even though his strength is faded from blood loss.

“I’m sorry,” Dick says, and Tim just whines and tosses his head, barely lucid, but lucid enough to feel pain. To feel fear. “I’m sorry, Robin.” He wants to call him baby brother, babybird, but he knows that it will destroy that for them forever, so he keeps it trapped behind his teeth.

Tim moans, pained, and tried to curl away from Dick, but Dick forces himself to grab Tim’s hips and stop him from squirming. He wants to get this over with, and having to fight his brother throughout it will only make it worse. So he does his best to get on with it, snapping his hips forward as if he wasn’t raping his brother, trying to think about sex, about pleasure. Soon enough he’s panting, wishing this didn’t feel so good, that Tim wasn’t so tight, so lithe beneath him. Tim is crying, Dick thinks, tears soaking into his domino and then seeping past, marking his face. He’s shaking, now, whimpering or moaning occasionally, but he lost both strength and will to fight a while ago. Normally, Dick would take that as a sign of his ability to please a lover, but none of it has to do with pleasure. When Dick is about to come, he pulls out, and strokes himself off onto Tim’s belly, not wanting to leave Tim feeling dirty inside as well as out, and then collapses back away from Tim, curling into a ball.

The man with the grey hair laughs, finally breaking his silence. “Your boy hasn’t come yet, Nightwing,” he says. “Don’t you know how to take care of him?”

Dick glares up at the man through his mask. “There’s not enough blood left in his body, you bastard,” he snarls. “And you damn well know it. I did what you wanted. Now help him.”

“True enough.” The man smirks, and gestures at one of the guards. He leaves, and then returns a minute later with a small first aid kit in hand. He opened the door of the cage of a moment and then shoved it through the gap, leaving Dick to scramble over to grab it and then set to work patching Tim’s wounds as best he could.

When he was done, he wiped himself and Tim down with Tim’s bloodied undershirt and a few wipes from the first aid kit, and then dressed himself in his costume again. Tim had fallen unconscious, finally, blessedly, so Dick wrangled him into his tunic and then curled close, trying to keep his brother warm. His skin was cool from the blood loss, but at least the bleeding had finally been stopped.

Dick wakes up before he realizes that he’s fallen asleep. There is someone hovering above him, and he shouts, lashing out with his fists. For a second, the figure above him is feminine, and it’s raining, pouring, and he’s drowning in guilt and despair and  _it’s all my fault, please, please I didn’t mean to_ , but then his vision clears and it’s Batman, a frown on his face.

“Br- Batman!” he gasps, scrambling to sit up. Bruce helps him up, a hand on his back.

“Nightwing,” he says, and looks over to the side. “What happened here?”Dick shivers. “I-” he starts, and then his eyes catch on Tim, curled away from him, his legs still bare, and he had to turn away from Bruce to throw up. There’s nothing in his stomach, and he’s dehydrated, and Bruce pats his back as he dry heaves, choking on nothing, tears in his eyes. “I want to go home,” he says, when he’s done, his voice raspy.

Bruce just looks at him for a moment, concerned, and then nods. “Can you walk?”

“Yeah,” Dick says, and stumbles to his feet, wavering a little. He’s exhausted, and nauseated, and sore from sleeping on the hard ground, but he’s okay. He’s doing better than Tim, who looks dead in Bruce’s arms, pale as a ghost and completely still.

“Bruce?” Dick says, once they’re in the Batmobile, headed away from that godforsaken warehouse. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault, Dick,” Bruce says, his voice gentle. “You couldn’t have known about the trap.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

Bruce glances over at him. “What happened in there, Dick? You’ve been gone for two full days.”

“They- they hurt Tim,” Dick says, and Bruce looks over at him sharply. “Not in the way you’re thinking- that was all me.”

This time, Bruce sucks in a sharp breath, but Dick keep going before he can say anything. “They stabbed him, and I needed medical supplies, Bruce, and they wouldn’t give them to me unless I- unless- I didn’t want to. I didn’t.”

“I believe you,” Bruce says, but Dick can barely hear him, his breathing gone quick and shallow, grey spots filling his vision. Unconsciousness is a relief when it finally comes.

**Author's Note:**

> DISCLAIMER: DO NOT USE BLOOD AS LUBE. DO NOT USE ANYTHING BUT LUBE AS LUBE.


End file.
